Intrepid
by revolution.now
Summary: Once upon a time, she had a grip on her place in the world… but that was before Gotham went to war. Redemption is often the ugliest road and certainly not the easiest. It was the road she planned to take anyway. Bane/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** I own nothing but this plot.

**So, this is my first story… ever. I've never had the guts to give this whole writing thing a shot, until now, and I'm genuinely nervous about all of this. Maybe it'll be worth it, maybe it won't. You let me know what you think and we'll go from there, AKA, please tell me if this is total crap and I should just stop writing now! This starts off with a bang (_ha_) and may seem a bit confusing but things will make sense soon… I hope.**

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><p><strong>Intrepid<strong>

**Chapter One**

The plane had just landed when the first bomb went off.

The reverberation from the initial explosion was low enough that hardly anyone in the bustling airport even noticed. The second, third and fourth… not so much. But those still aboard their planes waiting to pull into a gate were blissfully unaware that they had just landed in a warzone.

Groaning and feeling the exhaustion from thirty plus hours of flights and layovers worm under her skin and wrap around her bones, Lindsay stretched her arms above her head and arched her back in her seat. The boy next to her offered up an anxious little grin and then forcibly put his head under her arm and wiggled in as close to her side as the seat would allow. She looked down at him, waiting for his gaze to meet hers, and then crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue just to get him to really smile.

He was nervous, she knew that. His first airplane ride and first time to America was bound to wind him up. But now that they were finally here, she hoped he would settle in well.

Digging her cell phone out of her pocket, Lindsay turned it on with a sigh. A yawn overtook her making her eyes water slightly by the intensity of it before she set her phone back down in her lap and waited. She wasn't sure what was taking so long, they had been sitting out here for the past ten minutes and no one from the flight crew had even made an announcement about the delay. The creeping feeling of claustrophobia after such a long trip was gnawing away at her nerves and Lindsay tried to just focus on breathing. Maurice, however, seemed content to lean back against her and play with the window shade, pushing it up and down and up and down again.

She had just closed her eyes when a sudden gasped "_Oh, my god_," came from the back of the plane and one of the flight attendant's began sprinting up the aisle, face pale and mouth tight. Her heels clicked loudly as she ran and when she reached the cockpit, she pounded on the door.

Immediately the atmosphere in the plane shifted like lightning into hysteria and Lindsay felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Other passengers called out questions and craned their heads out into the aisle to see what was going on. The cockpit door opened and the flight attendant went inside without a word to the rest of them.

In her lap, her phone was vibrating.

At first glance, all she saw were the words, "Gotham is under attack" and at that any and all exhaustion she had felt took flight like a spooked flock of birds. Wide awake, Lindsay quickly entered in her password and opened the message from her best friend and co-worker who was supposed to pick them up at the airport today.

**Gotham is under attack. Terrorist has a bomb and won't let anyone leave the city. Get the plane to take off again. I don't care where you go, just get out of here.**

Heart plummeting all the way down to the soles of her feet, Lindsay blinked and reread the message as a cold terror seeped into her skin. The second message had been sent ten minutes ago: **The airport is being flooded by mercs. There's a mob of people at the ticket counters. Please tell me you're okay.**

Next to her, Maurice had gone eerily still. Slowly and silently, he crawled out from under her arm and scooted closer to the window.

"Mama?"

The uncertain tremor in the voice made her start and she tore her gaze away from her phone. Maurice was still looking out the window; palm pressed flat against the plastic inner layer. She leaned over his head and peered out above him and all of her breath rushed out of her body.

On the tarmac, walking towards the plane, was a group of grim-faced men dressed in military attire, each carrying an AK-47.

"Shit," Lindsay hissed and then went for her phone that was still buzzing. A third message arrived: **Fuck, I just saw the video. I know wh**

But the message ended there and Lindsay hit the screen of her phone with force attempting to reload the text again but it never came through. Reality was finally sinking into her mind that this was really happening and her hands trembled. She tried sending out a desperate text to Alissa but found that her fingers couldn't even type it out. She tried calling her instead.

There was no answer.

Cursing under her breath, she moved back to the window.

"Mama?" Maurice was staring at her, clearly frightened. "_S-kayen?_"

"I don't know," Lindsay answered him in English and shook her head feeling as if she was trapped and sinking into cold, murky depths. Maurice reached for her then and she wrapped her fingers tightly around his and pulled him close to her side. He ducked under her arm and her other hand slowly closed to a fist on the sleeve of his shirt.

Doing what she did for a living had taught her a lot about being in tense situations; she knew how to stay calm and how to think clearly when guns were going off right next to her head. But this was different. This was different because of the body in her arms—the child that she was fully responsible for now. Before, she had always been in these situations with just herself to watch out for, now, she felt the weight of another life in her hands.

And she was angry.

Angry because she was supposed to be bringing him _out_ of danger and instead she brought him right to it.

She had to do something.

Quickly, she unbuckled both herself and Maurice and grabbed their passports, all of her cash, and any other important documents and stuffed them in her pockets and her bra and anywhere on her person that she could and was prepared to bolt as soon as possible.

Of course that all failed when there was a small explosion at the front of the plane.

Screams and shrieks of terror were overshadowed by the sheer noise of the blast. Half of the passengers ducked and covered their heads and the other half jumped out of their seats and ran to the back of the plane. Lindsay had pulled Maurice's head straight into her stomach and curled herself around him. Eyes screwed shut; she didn't even realize the scream that jumped out of her throat until it was too late.

Mercenaries were storming the plane, moving quickly down the aisles and forcing everyone back into their seats. Her ears were ringing from the blast and it was an odd thing to see the armed men blast open the cockpit and rip the pilot and other airline attendants out of their supposed safety in a muffled silence.

But slowly, oh so slowly, noise returned as one mercenary with short, black hair moved up to the front of the plane, his gun slung around his back. He took the speaker that the flight attendants always used to make announcements and tapped it twice. When it echoed throughout the plane, he seemed satisfied.

"There is no need for panic," he began, his accent distinctly Spanish. "We need each of you to walk out of this plane, bring all of your belongings, and go into the airport. If you do this calmly, we will have no issues. If you do not, we will shoot you where you stand. You will be informed inside of what has happened to your great city."

No one moved and the man smiled. "I would highly suggest that you follow my instructions."

Still silence—

"_Now_."

* * *

><p>They walked in a single file line across the tarmac. She kept Maurice in front of her and her hand on his shoulder. They were silent, not that they were forced to be, but because fear had rendered them so. The wind was as sharp as the edge of a knife and it cut into the tender skin on her cheeks turning them red as if she had been slapped and slapped again. Maurice was trembling terribly and she wasn't sure if the cold was fully responsible for that.<p>

They marched through doors guarded by more armed men and women and were promptly herded to the baggage claim area where they joined the masses.

_Like sheep to the slaughter._

Lindsay made sure to keep a good grip on Maurice and kept them near the exits. She fingered her phone and had no idea if Alissa had gotten out or if she was in this crowd somewhere. She needed to find her. Taking a chance, Lindsay slipped her phone out of her pocket and sent a quick text, not sure if she was even allowed to use it but wanting to take the extra precautions, just in case.

They waited, an odd silence settling over everyone like a heavy winter blanket but it held no comfort or warmth. She wondered, not for the first time, if they were going to be killed.

Lindsay didn't know what she would do, except she had a feeling—a deep, knowing, gut instinct—that she would bleed before she let them near Maurice.

A foreign hand on her shoulder and Lindsay grabbed it without thinking and twisted the wrist painfully.

"_God!_ Ow, it's just me." Alissa hushed her and when Lindsay's grip went slack, yanked her hand away.

"Sorry, you scared the hell out of me."

Alissa kept her eyes on the crowd, particularly on the dark haired mercenary that had been on Lindsay's plane. Then, her eyes flashed and took in both Lindsay and Maurice. "_Culshi mzien?_"

"_Culshi mzien_," Maurice echoed back to her and she gave him a tight smile and then her violent blue eyes burned into Lindsay. "Do you know what's going on?"

She shook her head. "Only what I got from your messages."

"Trust me, it's a lot worse than anyone thinks—"

Alissa stopped suddenly when the dark haired mercenary jumped onto the luggage rack, his boots booming against the metal. His expression was severe and his mouth turned down in disgust and Maurice backed himself into Lindsay.

"As many of you know by now, this airport is now closed. Gotham is coming under a new order. The police are gone and we have a nuclear bomb and will set it off if anyone tries to leave this city. We have blown all of the bridges but one and for now, martial law is in effect. We will not hold you here; you may go back to your homes and find shelter… But tomorrow, you will awake to a new Gotham."

Clenching her jaw, Lindsay exchanged a knowing look with the blond next to her and they turned back to the mercenary. The crowd had stayed silent, their fear pouring off of them, until one man stepped forward:

"Why are you doing this?"

The dark haired mercenary looked at him for a breathless moment and then smiled.

"To set you all free."

* * *

><p>Maurice's nails bit into the palm of her hand and Lindsay let it happen. Despite the language barrier, he was a smart twelve year old and got the gist of what was happening. Something about being born to the sound of gunshots made him understand things on a whole other level than the average person.<p>

She was glad for that, because she wasn't sure how in the world she would explain this situation to him right now.

Alissa walked on the other side, sandwiching him between the two of them, and she and Lindsay were both pulling their rolling luggage behind them. There was an odd calm over everyone as they left the airport, as if people were afraid that if they spoke too loud it would trigger the bomb.

The wind was even stronger than before and Maurice pulled up the hood on his jacket. It blocked the two women from his view and as soon as it did, Lindsay took a good look at her friend. She had known Alissa for two years now. Not long by most standards but the kind of work they did either bonded people together like blood or put them completely at odds. She had been with Alissa when they both had been mugged by knifepoint in Peru and she had been with Alissa when they had found out one of their kids was murdered. She had seen her sob until snot and tears mixed together and the only words that would come out of her mouth for a long time was—"_Why?_"

They knew each other.

Which is why the look in her friend's eye frightened her so badly.

"What is it?" Lindsay murmured as the car came into view and Alissa clicked her keys to unlock it.

A pause and then, "I need to show you something."

"What?" Lindsay asked as they opened the trunk and stuffed the bags inside. She ushered Maurice over to the car door and he climbed in the back as the blond walked quickly over to the driver's side. She said nothing and Lindsay felt her pulse begin to race and her stomach coil tighter than a spring. "Alissa, I can't really take any more suspense today. Please, just tell me."

Eyes the color of glaciers met her over the top of the car.

"It's Bane."


	2. Chapter 2

**Intrepid**

**Chapter Two**

"What do you mean," Lindsay's mouth twisted around the name, "_Bane_?"

"What do you think I mean?" The blond snapped, her voice clipped and eyes flashing. She had a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel and veered left, taking the exit that would lead them into downtown Gotham. "It's him."

"Are you sur—"

"Maybe it's best to save this conversation for another time, hmm?" Alissa said lightly, her eyes pointedly going to her rearview mirror where Maurice was sitting in total silence.

With some effort, Lindsay bit her tongue and then carefully schooled her features and turned around offering a soft smile to the twelve year old boy who she had just unknowingly dragged into a war. He didn't smile back, but simply stared at her with those dark obsidian eyes and not for the first time since she had met him, Lindsay was taken aback by how old he seemed.

There were centuries etched within him, galaxies of galaxies, endless lives lived and lives lost. He didn't carry it in wrinkles or in scars, but in the quiet of his eyes, the furrow in his brow, the unseen weight on his shoulders.

He was ancient in a way that Lindsay would never know.

Long before she found him, Maurice had been a part of a desperate, wheedling multinational transaction; he had been part of a holy war, ultimately part of a larger problem. The things that he had been taught in those years could not be untaught and she found that he fell into this situation with much more grace and ease than she could say for herself.

For that, her heart broke.

She wanted to tell him that it would be okay, that there would be nothing to worry about, but she had made a vow a long time ago, to herself and to every child she worked with, that she would not lie. The truth was she _didn't_ know if everything would be okay. She didn't know what was going to happen to them or to Gotham and she refused to say otherwise. And so she bit her tongue again and turned back around in her seat.

The drive home was not an easy one.

After what little conversation she and Alissa had, the air inside the car was tense, strung tighter than a bow string, and mostly silent. Staring out the window as neon lights stretched and morphed reflecting on the cool glass like overgrown fireflies; Lindsay had expected the streets to be completely empty, that the citizens of Gotham would scatter like ants under the crushing boot that was coming down on them all. But as they drove, the roads and sidewalks were jam-packed with life; desperate and raging, a burning inferno doused in gasoline and set lose in a field of dry wheat. There were mobs of people, roaming like a pack of wolves, free from the structures and rules. Fires were lit, stores were looted, and chaos was fed like a monster that never was satisfied.

The car came to a stop at a red light and as it did, Lindsay felt things shift, just like in the plane. She didn't know how, maybe it was from spending so much of her life in active conflict zones, but she always knew when shit was going to hit the fan right before it happened. It freaked some of her colleagues out but had also saved their lives once.

That familiar sense of dread flooded her mind, body, and soul seconds before a metal baseball bat smashed her window in.

Screams, she wasn't sure whose, and glass everywhere, cutting into her skin like a thousand tiny razors, and hands. Hands reaching in and grabbing her, trying to tear her out of her seat, but the seat belt—a thing she hardly ever remembered to wear when she was stateside but for some reason put on today—did its job and locked in place, refusing to release its hold on her. Lindsay fought the intruder, using her nails to dig and rip into their skin and she vaguely heard a man grunt with pain.

"_GO!_ Fucking drive!" She shouted after the initial surprise and struggle wore off and Alissa slammed her foot on the gas.

The man was still partially inside the car as they took off but when the speed became too much, he fell, tumbling to the hard, cold ground and rolling endlessly out into the middle of the street. Her breathing ragged and her heart thumping heavy and fast through her veins, Lindsay glanced in the side mirror and all she saw were flames licking the night sky, the fire tasting the city and its people.

Gotham was burning.

Slowly, she closed her eyes and her hands curled into shaking fists. It had begun.

She had seen this before, person turning against person. She had seen what happened when desperation and human nature collided under the thumb of absolute power. First, with the Joker's reign of terror eight years ago, and now, she saw it every day in her work.

Most people would flee from evil when they came face to face with it, but Lindsay never did. No, after the Joker, she _ran_ to it. Not because she wanted it but because something in her needed to prove that there could be something good to come out of terrible places. She needed to prove that people weren't born evil—rather that they were molded by it or by circumstance. She needed to find light in the deepest pits.

So she went to the pits of the world. Every one she could find, searching for that glimmer of hope.

What she found were children.

Hundreds of them, abandoned, abused, thrown away, victims of violence and war and poverty. Any one of them could become the next Joker, the next Bane, the next warlord or mass murderer, unless someone did something—

"Lindsay, hey, I need you to talk to me. Are you okay?"

She started. Alissa was staring at her, frightened. She had no idea how long she had been off in her own little world and she blinked repeatedly.

"What? Yeah. No-yeah. I'm good." Then she remembered Maurice and in a panic, whipped around in her seat. Gently and slowly, so not to startle him, she reached out her hand, instantly switching away from English. "Hey. Are you alright? It's not much longer."

Maurice leaned forward and took her hand cautiously, as if afraid to hurt her, and then reached up with the other and picked a large piece of glass out of her curly, lion-like hair. He held it up for her inspection and Lindsay grinned. "_Shokran_."

"_Al 'afw._" He murmured, so soft she wouldn't have heard it if it weren't for the movement of his lips.

She went back to her seat after another smile, this one real and true.

"You're bleeding." Alissa glanced over quickly and then back to the road. The muscles in her thin, pale forearms were standing out and trembling as she gripped the steering wheel.

"Really?" Lindsay asked, genuinely surprised. Flipping down the mirror overhead, her eyes widened. She _was_ bleeding. There were a lot of small scrapes and cuts on her face and neck and hands, but the worst was on her cheek. A thin rivulet of blood began there and ran down her neck disappearing beneath her sweater. "Crap. Sorry, do you have a towel or something in here?"

"Check the glove box for napkins." Alissa paused. "And stop saying sorry for something you had no control over."

Lindsay nodded, mouth open slightly and then popped the glove box open. The dim light turned on inside and she grabbed a handful of napkins and then froze when she saw what lay hidden underneath them. Sensing her stillness, Alissa's eyes flickered over and her jaw clenched.

"It's not mine. It's my dad's. He always keeps it in the glove box."

Neither of them had vehicles, they usually weren't back in the States long enough to warrant true need of one, so they always borrowed. Lindsay didn't even have a credit card, the way she saw it, the less that tied her down…

"When did your dad start carrying a gun?" Lindsay asked, her index finger running lightly over the handle before she snapped the glove box shut.

"When I first went to Colombia. He got a little paranoid with all the stories I told him and when I came back he had just bought it for himself. I don't even think he knows how to shoot it."

Lindsay gave a quiet hum and began slowly going to task wiping up the blood and inspecting for small pieces of glass embedded in her skin. She felt Alissa's eyes on her.

"I wouldn't use it, you know."

Hazel met glacier blue for a long moment.

"I know," Lindsay said quietly and pressed the wad of napkins harder against her cheek.

"Are you really okay?"

Finally coming back to her full senses and feeling the chill of the wind from the now broken window, Lindsay shivered and then, for a ridiculous moment, felt like laughing. Though when she spoke, it was anything but funny. "I just finished thirty-four hours of traveling in economy class airplanes coming from an active warzone only to land in another and now I have a twelve year old kid that I have to make sure stays safe. Oh, and a guy just nearly took my head off with a baseball bat. I'm fine."

Alissa didn't respond and Lindsay went back to cleaning up the blood.

They finally reached their street, the car nothing but a quiet purr. Lindsay hadn't been back in six months, one of her longest stints overseas, she felt something that was a lot like relief and exhaustion and another something that wasn't quite anxiousness intertwine in her blood. She was home, finally. But come tomorrow… home wouldn't be home any longer.

* * *

><p>The apartment building was small, certainly not the nicest and definitely about ten years behind in style, but the landlady, a woman in her early sixties who had a habit of trapping you in the hallway and talking for hours, took a certain pride in keeping it clean and up to date on repairs. The apartments themselves were also tiny, but it suited Lindsay and Alissa well for the times that they were back stateside and the landlady loved them to bits, even if she was a tad overwhelming.<p>

Privately, Lindsay just thought she was lonely.

They marched up three flights of stairs, lugging their bags with them. Reaching the door, Alissa dug her keys out of her pocket in jerky little movements and wasted no time unlocking the door and then dead bolting it behind them.

Lindsay didn't say a word when the blond shoved the heavy wooden dining table in front of it as well.

Shaking herself, as if she could make the cold just slide off her skin, Lindsay took in a shuddering breath fully appreciating that the heater was running. She wasn't used to the sudden change in temperature, having adjusted to intense sunshine and sweltering desert breezes in her time away, not the biting, frigid winds of Gotham on the edge of winter.

Maurice dropped his bag and was slowly walking into the living room, eyes taking in everything. The kitchen with barely-there counter space was actually just another part of the room and his hand absently ran over the smooth counter top as he ventured further inside.

He flinched a little when Lindsay flipped on the light making the shadows scatter but otherwise didn't acknowledge her. Knowing he needed a moment, Lindsay glanced over her shoulder and found Alissa leaning back against the wall watching the both of them.

"Do you have any—"

"Coffee? On it."

Lindsay grinned widely. "Am I that obvious?"

"Not really," Alissa said easily as she opened a cabinet. "I've just been witness to your addiction on more than one occasion."

Knowing exactly what she was referring to, Lindsay couldn't stop the burst of loud, genuine laughter that jumped out of her belly and echoed in the all too quiet room. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Maurice jump slightly and turn to look at her in surprise.

She felt bad for scaring him. "_Aji_, Maurice," she called, voice shaking a little, still grinning. He came immediately and she wrapped her arm around his shoulder, bending her head down slightly. "Are you hungry?"

He shook his head, eyes brighter than they had been since they got off the plane.

"Thirsty?" Again, a shake of his head. "Tired?" He started to shake his head and then stopped when a yawn overtook him instead. Lindsay squeezed his shoulder. "Come on, let me show you your room."

She led him down the hall to the right and switched on the light. There were only two bedrooms and Lindsay and Alissa had discussed it ahead of time and decided to bunk up to give Maurice his own space. She opened the first door on the left and behind it was a quaint, if not plain, room with a single bed and a wall decal of three dandelions slowly fluttering away in the wind.

It wasn't much, she knew that. But she kept most her life in a suitcase and that didn't leave much behind for homemaking. Maurice, however, seemed struck.

"This is mine?" He asked.

"Do you like it?"

He grinned, all pearly white teeth against deeply tanned skin. "_'Ajbani_." He moved to the bed, sat on it and bounced a little. She watched the thought go through his mind before his eyes shot up. "Where will you sleep?"

"I'll be right across this hall. See that door? If you need anything at all, come get me." She met his gaze. His dark eyes shone, catching the light above, but there was a measure of something else, something she couldn't quite name swirling in their depths that had Lindsay walking across the room to join him on the bed.

Her weight caused him to inevitably slide closer to her. She nudged his shoulder then, knocking him a little to the side, her voice very quiet. "Hey. How are you?"

He didn't answer and that in and of itself was enough.

"Come here," she sighed and drew him into her side. Her chin rested on the top of his head and she blinked back sudden wetness as her lips trembled and then pressed together, hard. "I'm not going to leave you, Maurice. I won't. You know I won't. I'm-I'm so sorry this isn't what I promised it would be."

His hair was wiry under her chin and she brought a hand up to play with it as he breathed deep and long. Finally—

"What is going to happen tomorrow?"

"I don't know." In her training, she was taught that sometimes, the most courageous thing a person could say was, 'I don't know.'

Lindsay wondered, then, why she didn't feel very brave when she said it.

Maurice fell quiet and she knew it was coming, the question she had been waiting for him to ask since Alissa first mentioned the name. And it was funny, not in the _ha-ha_ kind of way, but in the how fucked up this all was, how _ironic_, kind of way.

"Those men… were they…?"

"I don't know," she said quickly, too quickly, not ready to go there. "But I do know that you," she paused and tapped his nose, "little man, need to sleep."

She didn't give him an option, really. Lindsay stood up, her movement quick and her eyes avoiding his as she nearly ripped open the suitcase and dug out some of his clothes. Finding a pair of pajama bottoms and a long sleeve shirt, she handed them to him. After he changed, she then showed him where the bathroom was, made sure he brushed his teeth while she cleaned the cut on her cheek and put a band-aid on it, got him a glass of water and then ushered him back to his room.

The smell of coffee permeated through the house and though Lindsay was craving it, could taste it in the air already; she hesitated at the door, her hand pausing over the light switch.

Maurice was pulling back the thick comforter on the bed and she saw the tattoo on his calf and she thought again, in a blindingly painful way, of when she first found him.

Her chest was tight and her voice became thick, making it difficult to get out the words. "_Tesbah ala kheyr, _Maurice. I'll see you in the morning."

His obsidian eyes met hers from the bed and for some reason; he looked so small. His voice, when he spoke, was even smaller. "_Kanebgheek_, mama."

"Love you, too," she answered him softly in English and switched off the light.

* * *

><p>"Hey."<p>

Alissa looked up from where she was perched on the couch, her legs tucked under her body and fingers curled around a steaming cup of tea. Her nearly white blond hair was tied up in a high and messy bun and she had changed out of her skinny jeans to dark gray sweat pants and red wool socks. She wordlessly pointed to the coffee mug on the small table in front of the sofa and Lindsay went straight for it.

At first sip, she sighed in pure pleasure. A tiny bit of sugar and plenty of thick cream to make it extra smooth. She was in heaven.

"How is he?"

Lindsay snagged a blanket and threw it over herself before sitting on the other end of the couch. She took another long drink, letting the hot liquid burn down her throat. "Good but not good, too. Better than me though, I think."

"Isn't that funny, we thought the hardest thing for him would be the culture shock…" Alissa trailed off and Lindsay raised one eyebrow.

"Yeah," Lindsay replied flatly. "The world's real funny like that," she paused, her voice dropping low. "He's already asking."

Alissa stared into her cup of tea, as if she could read the leaves or was at least trying to. Her finger moved over the rim of the cup back and forth. "Linds… what do—how are we supposed to do this?"

"I don't know." Lindsay said again and she still didn't feel very courageous saying it. "One day at a time, I guess."

Alissa snapped, blue eyes flashing.

"This isn't Congo, you know. This is our damn _home_."

"Save your anger for tomorrow when I'm more awake and I'll join you in the political and social ranting," she responded with a wave of her hand and took another long drink of her coffee. "This is good. Hey, what time is it? My clock is so off."

"Just after seven," Alissa watched her yawn and snorted. "Jet lag's a bitch. Have fun with that."

The conversation fell flat and useless then and they both stared hard at the floor or at the wall or at their mug. Finally, Lindsay swallowed the last of her coffee and wiped away its trace on her upper lip. She sucked in a deep breath and prepared herself.

"Go ahead and turn it on. I need to see."

* * *

><p>It was a surreal thing, watching a war begin.<p>

She usually dealt with the fingerprints left behind by war, one of those fingerprints tucked away in her own bed now, but she never thought it would follow her home. Not like this, at least.

Alissa was biting on a fingernail, her eyes unwavering from the television and Lindsay leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees and mouth grim, as the cameras honed in on the masked man striding onto the now desolate football field.

He was built like a tank, barrel-chested with tree trunk legs, and when he spoke his voice was not the deep lion's rumble Lindsay had first expected. It was archaic. The sound of old, dusty history books and blood; the voice of a man who knew exactly what he was doing and what the price would be.

Oddly enough, it was his accent that frightened her more than anything else.

"This bomb is ours. This bomb is mobile, and the identity of the triggerman is a mystery. For one of you holds the detonator. Now, we come here not as conquerors, but as _liberators_—"

"Bull_shit_," Alissa spewed at the television. They had heard this kind of thing before. Bane might be _the_ big bad, but in a way he was just like all of the other power thirsty warlords hiding away in third-world countries. They all believed that their tyranny was what people wanted, that they were liberators from some great injustice. And maybe they were, once, but too long with too much power and they fell—every last one of them.

"—For now, martial law is in effect. Return to your homes, hold your families close, and wait. Tomorrow you claim what is rightfully yours."

The microphone he had been using shrieked as it fell to the ground and the scene changed now back to the newswoman, her expression dismal.

"We have reports that there are massive amounts of police officers in Gotham trapped underground. There has been no word from the mayor. It is unknown whether he is still, in fact, alive," she continued on but her voice dropped to the background of Lindsay's mind.

"It really is him," she breathed, her voice nothing more than a disbelieving whisper. "My god, all the stories we heard—all the times… I thought he was just a ghost or a myth, you know, something to blame disasters on when no one had an answer."

"He's real alright," was all Alissa said and Lindsay thought about that and what that meant for her city. Bane was real. He was real and he was here, in Gotham.

"We don't stand a chance," she said, wide-eyed, and not realizing that she had spoken aloud.

"But why here? He's been a menace in west Africa for the last however many years, why the hell is he here?"

Lindsay opened her mouth and shook her head, the answer now sliding off her tongue easily. "I don't know."

They spent the next three hours, not moving, watching the newsreel repeat the same images and ultimately the same information just in different words and forms. Lindsay drank nearly an entire pot of coffee and Alissa unknowingly bit her fingernails to complete stubs. They watched, and cursed, as the President sent a message directly to Gotham that talked a lot of shit but, in the end, said nothing absolutely at all.

They talked after that, the two of them. Not about the situation but about each other. They talked of the last few months they had spent together in Africa. They talked of what happened in the month that Alissa had been home and Lindsay had still been there, in that hot desert place, tying up loose ends. They talked of life—the fullness of it with its hard, hard truths. They talked of hearts and keeping the darkness away and how exactly they could do that.

Despite the caffeine flowing through her, Lindsay eventually felt her eyelids droop and the television became fuzzy and Alissa's voice murmured as her head rested on one upraised knee. In those few moments between waking and sleeping, she dreamed.

She dreamed so vividly of bats and a spider-like mask, of guns and grim faces and gray, gray skies. She dreamed of bitterness and it became a real thing, molding and moving and crawling towards her. She dreamed of Maurice and his laughter and her promising him that things would be different in America. And she cried.

Her lashes were wet when she was shaken awake and the look Alissa gave her was soft and knowing and sad. It was never an easy thing, what they did, and it showed most often in nightmares and PTSD attacks.

Lindsay didn't know how to tell her friend that this wasn't that. It was… it _was_ but it wasn't.

"Get some sleep," Alissa's voice was quiet and her eyes gentle. She glanced at the door and what was beyond and then back to Lindsay. "I think we're going to need it."

* * *

><p>AN: I promise, Bane will come soon. But I want this story to be _more_ than just your average, typical Bane/OC story out there... Just give me a little bit to set this up and then it'll be PARTY TIME. (not really, but, ya know.)

In other news... _EEEP!_ That was a squeak of happiness! You guys are awesome and I'm so glad that people read this and enjoying it. Super exciting! I want to be updating this on some kind of schedule. I'm thinking once a week or once every two weeks, mainly because I am a busy student and I need to pass my classes (no matter how much more fun it would be to spend my day writing away! _Booooooo_.).

Also, I really am trying to keep these OC's like real people… so, basically, feel free to tell me if they don't come across that way or need some work. This being my first attempt at really writing, I'll take any advice. On that note, a final note, I'm really trying to get a grip on the whole concept of _showing_ and not _telling_, hence why I'm not trying to give people's full story or background away right now… but I feel like that's more of a struggle than I expected. Does anyone have any tips on how to get better?

revolution . now


	3. Chapter 3

A/N Look at me being so on schedule for updating. CAN I GET A WHOOP WHOOP FOR SCHEDULES?

Oh, hey, thanks for the reviews! Since the majority has been guest reviews and I can't thank those people personally, this is gonna have to do—THANKS! Hopefully any confusion will be cleared up starting this chapter and moving into the next few… Just go with the story, babes. Also, I'm pretty sure I should have some kind of violence warning on this chapter, but then I realized that pretty much every chapter so far has had violence. So let's just all be mature and enjoy the fact that things are about to get really intense. AND I LOVE IT.

* * *

><p><strong>Intrepid<strong>

**Chapter Three**

She stared out the window for a long time, a thick blanket wrapped around her shoulders, watching, waiting as morning broke and the world illuminated to a dismal sort of gray glow. Her long hair was still damp from a recent shower, her second cup of coffee growing cold in her hands. Alissa hadn't even stirred when she slipped out of bed and there had been nothing but Maurice's soft snores drifting underneath his door, both of which she was grateful for. It gave her the privacy to think and plan and prepare without having to worry about hiding her fierce frown or the tears running down her cheeks.

Whatever exhaustion or out-of-body shock she had come under when her plane landed yesterday had vanished this morning. She felt drained, scrubbed out, her insides blistering and angry and so afraid until she had turned the air around her so raw and full of welts that it stung her every time she moved.

War had finally followed her home.

Though the thought was ludicrous, she couldn't help but feel like part of it was her. Like she brought the unrest with her, only now it wasn't so easy to get away from.

She had flown, bussed, even walked straight into warzones more times than she could count and then flew or bussed or walked her way straight out. It always left a kind of choking guilt in her chest. The kind she would gag on later after hours of sobbing but never could cough up. It was like a rock—heavy with the promise that one day it would be big enough to sink her so deep that she wouldn't be able to make it back to the surface. Because every time she returned safely to the States, there were people she left behind, emails she would receive from friends who braved it out of their homes to make it to a tiny internet café to call out for help. They were people who would never be able to leave as easily as she did when things became too dangerous. They were trapped and she was only just beginning to realize how they must have felt.

The sudden click of a door opening had Lindsay quickly pushing her tears away with the heels of her hands.

"How long have you be up?" Alissa's voice was half yawn as she shuffled into the living room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Lindsay took a long drink of her coffee, her gaze still on the window.

"Since about three."

"Jetlag?" Lindsay shook her head as Alissa dropped onto the couch next to her. "Bad dream?"

She didn't answer that one, just reached down into her lap and pulled her cell phone out from under the blanket and tossed it to her friend. Her hazel eyes locked on Alissa and there was something weighty in them that made the blond go very still. "Phones are down."

"… What?"

"Internet, too. My guess is they've been cut."

Alissa cursed colorfully and all Lindsay could do was nod in wholehearted agreement. How was it that overnight Gotham had become so close and also strangely out of reach, thicketed away from the rest of the world?

_I never even got to tell my mom that I made it back._

Lindsay slowly closed her eyes and shoved that thought away to the same place where she put everything else that was too difficult to think about in daylight hours and she went back to staring out the window.

"Wait a damn second—" Alissa exclaimed, snapping her fingers twice, her eyes suddenly wide and very blue. She scrambled off the couch, her limbs tumbling over each other in a graceless mess, and ran to her room. A few moments later she returned, triumph clear on her face, holding up a strange looking phone. It was a lot larger and a lot thicker than your average cell phone with a heavy looking retractable antenna and at one glance, Lindsay felt something ridiculous—something very much like hope—begin to flutter around like butterfly wings in her chest.

"Holy shit, do you think it'll work?"

Alissa's grin was fierce and shark like, her face all hard angles. "Only one way to find out."

Her fingers punched the numbers in with too much force and then they waited for what felt like years to see if the call would actually get through. Alissa paced and Lindsay sat up on her knees, her hands gripping the arm of the couch hard enough to leave indents behind. Seconds passed and then Alissa's head shot up—

"Dad? _Dad!_ No, I'm okay… She made it, so did Maurice. We're at the apartment; can you let her family know? No, it's been mostly quiet—no… No, we haven't even turned it on. What's happening?" Alissa paused, her hand tightening on the satellite phone and then her entire body jolted in surprised shock. "He fucking did _what?_"

Lindsay's eyes flashed to Alissa's but her friend was burning holes in the carpet at her feet with her gaze as she listened to her father speak on the other end. Fear and something very much like dread rose like a wave in her belly and Lindsay stood up from the couch silently in anticipation. Her movement caught Alissa's attention and those glacier eyes were pure fire.

"Bane set Blackgate free."

Silence; then complete and utter panic flooded through Lindsay and for a terrifying heartbeat, her throat closed and all she could do was stare back at the other girl. She could not think; she could not even come up with a plan for something like this. It didn't matter that Alissa hung up on her father, grabbed her coat and yanked on her shoes and was out the door with a harsh command for Lindsay to, "_stay here._" All she felt was terror.

And then she snapped back to herself like a rubber band, tore her eyes away from the door that Alissa had just slammed and ran to the television. She fumbled with the remote, pressing a few buttons until she hit 'power' and then waited as the screen warmed up. It felt like hours, but then in a slow fade she saw everything. The news channel had it on repeat and Lindsay felt herself sink down onto the couch, listening to the masked man's words about Harvey Dent, the police commissioner, armies being raised and Gotham surviving with a disbelief too strong for fear.

"Bane?"

She nearly jumped off the couch, her head whipped around to find Maurice standing in the hallway, his deeply tanned skin a few shades paler than usual as he stared at the masked terrorist. Lindsay rose quickly.

"Maurice-"

"It's him! How did he find me?" Maurice was panicking badly and it took Lindsay's brain a few extra moments to translate his question to English.

Opening her mouth, confused, her voice sounded very far away when she spoke. "I don't think he even realizes you're here."

And then it clicked into place. Something that was blinding in its clarity, something that was shouting for her attention, and something that hadn't even crossed her mind and it _should_ have. There was a reason why Maurice was so afraid, a reason why Bane's name haunted him more than the average person.

"Oh my god," she stared at Maurice in abstract horror.

But before she could say anything else, the front door burst open and she screamed out of reflex but it was just Alissa, her pale cheeks reddened by the cold. In her right hand was the gun from the glove box.

"What the hell is that?!" Lindsay pointed, her adrenaline making her mind buzz and her skin crawl.

Deadbolting the door and shoving the kitchen table in front of it again, Alissa glanced over her shoulder, eyes bright and burning, and said nothing.

"You said you'd never—"

"I know I did but that was—that was before. This isn't a bunch of young boys who were kidnapped and need rescuing, Lindsay," Alissa cut her off, her voice a biting sort of truth. "It isn't. Bane just set loose Gotham's hardest criminals, and from what my dad tells me, they have a grudge against us. These are men who made their choice and made a second one by joining Bane's army."

Lindsay just stared at her friend, the girl whose face she knew better than most, and she took in the icy determination in her eyes, the hard set of her mouth, and the gun in her shaking hand.

It was the shaking, that tremble, that had Lindsay screwing her eyes shut and nodding in agreement. She hated it, but Alissa was right.

"Do you remember when the Joker came?" Lindsay heard the plunk of the gun being set on the kitchen table and when she opened her eyes, her friend looked much more like the girl she knew again. Funny, how much of a difference holding a gun made. "It—he _changed_ this city. Showed people who they really were when desperation hits, but he was just a scar on Gotham. Something that people hurried to try and cover up and pretend like it never happened. Bane—he… that man is a fucking crater that we won't be able to pull ourselves out of. Not this time. I don't want to use this—" she gestured to the gun. "I don't—but I don't want any of us to die more. That is where my line is drawn. You better find out where yours is before it's too late."

Neither of them moved and after what seemed like a very long silence, Lindsay finally found her voice and it was decided.

"What do you need from me?"

* * *

><p>Pacing the floor of her bedroom, phone to her ear, her heart pounded under the weight of what she had to do. She hadn't spoken to him in nearly three years and a very small part of her felt like cursing Alissa; out of all the things she could have asked her to do, she asked her to do <em>this<em>. But the larger part, the part that was shoving everything it had at her, told her that it was the right thing to do.

Not just the right thing, the _smart_ thing. He might be the only person on earth that she knew who could help them.

Lindsay would be lying though if she didn't admit that there was a fair amount of relief when the call went to voicemail. Stopping her pacing, she clenched her fist and forced her voice to be as normal as possible.

"Hey Brandon… it's me. It- it's Lindsay," the next bit came out in something more like a rush of air than actual words. "I know you don't want to hear from me but I'm in Gotham. I'm sure you already know what's going on here, probably more than me. Most communication with the outside world has been cut but we've got a satellite phone, me and my roommate. Listen, things are about to get really bad here… but maybe can help, give whatever information we can. Just… get back to me. Soon."

She hit 'end' and turned on her heel and strode back into the living room more than relieved to have that part done and dreading if he actually returned her call.

Alissa was standing over the gas stove making scrambled eggs, something that looked completely foreign after the morning they had, but then again, they had to eat at some point. Maurice was sitting on the counter watching every move she made, Alissa was talking to him in quiet tones and he was nodding and Lindsay found herself glad that Alissa had taken it upon herself to let him know what was going on.

The gun was nowhere to be seen.

"Can you toss in a few eggs for me?" Lindsay asked, her voice making Maurice jump and she offered him a strained smile in apology.

"Already did." Alissa looked over her shoulder, her eyes searching. "Any luck?"

"He didn't answer so I left a voicemail," Lindsay waggled the phone in her hand and set it purposefully down on the counter before moving over to the cabinet next to Maurice and grabbing some plates for them. She tried to smile at him, again, and he tried to return it with just as little success.

Since their kitchen table was currently blocking the front door, they ate breakfast on the couch. It was tense and awkward and when they were done Maurice asked to shower. Lindsay began on dishes while Alissa showed him how their shower worked. A few minutes later it was running and Alissa was back in the kitchen. She joined Lindsay silently and went about drying the plates.

"Alissa…" Lindsay began once the dishes were half way done, her voice quiet and careful. "Do you know Maurice's story?"

"Yeah. I mean, not like you do—I wasn't there in the beginning. But I know from what you told me and what little he's shared."

Lindsay nodded and a riotous curl fell into her eyes. She brought a soapy hand up to push it away and shook out her long mane. Her mouth opened and she paused, measuring her words.

"We can't let anyone find out who he is."

"What do you…" Lindsay waited silently and then she felt the air shift and watched the realization came over her friend. "Oh my god."

"My words exactly."

Alissa frowned, thinking. "You don't think—it's not like they'd actually remember him, would they?"

"I don't feel like I know much of anything anymore," she shrugged helplessly. "But I'd rather be safe than sorry. We need to come up with a back story for him in case anyone asks."

"Do you really think anyone is going to be asking questions right now?" The question was flat and humorless and bitterly true.

Lindsay pursed her lips. "No, probably not. But I'm coming up with one, just in case."

The shower stopped and Lindsay glanced up from the dishes for the first time in their conversation, something desperate in her. "He knows its Bane and he's scared, Alissa. God, what was I thinking bringing him here? The foundation board was against it; some of my biggest donors think I'm insane—"

Hands were on her shoulders, hard and unrelenting, and they turned her to the side. Alissa ducked her head down just a little until she was level with Lindsay's eyes. "You weren't thinking. You were going with your heart—that big gorgeous thing that wanted to give a kid who's been through a hell that no one in the damn board of directors will ever understand a second chance at life and wouldn't take no for an answer. You were the one there, for every moment, pretty or ugly and I might love that kid, but he fucking _adores_ you."

Lindsay wiped at a tear and looked away, not comfortable with how bare and vulnerable she felt at the moment. But Alissa's hands tightened on her shoulders and pulled her close with a whispered, "Come'ere."

And then she was gasping and her hands tugging and twisting the material of Alissa's shirt as she squeezed as hard as she possibly could, more tears leaking out of her eyes. She was crying harder now and the bathroom door was opening and she knew she should pull herself together before Maurice came back out—

And then it all went to hell.

Lindsay would wonder, later, where it was that they went wrong, how could they have changed what was about to happen. All she knew was that one moment she was hugging her best friend, her lifeline, and the next there was gunfire erupting just outside on the street and the roar of an angry mob washing over them like a tidal wave.

Time was up.

Eyes so wide that they were nearly perfect circles, Lindsay shared a horrified look with Alissa and then they were moving. She ran for Maurice and Alissa was shoving more things in front of the door.

There was a rushing noise in her ears and her skin literally felt like it was vibrating. The bathroom door flew open before she could reach it and Maurice nearly ran straight into her. Lindsay yelled his name and grabbed his hand. They barreled into the living room and then skidded to a stop because, in reality, they had nowhere else to go.

They were trapped.

"Get below the window!" Alissa shouted.

Maurice dropped to the ground, having more experience in these situations than both of the girls combined. Lindsay followed him a second later and they crawled on their hands and knees over to Alissa as shots were fired at their building and bullets imbedded themselves in the walls of their apartment in rapid succession. Two hit the glass and shattered it, flying across the room all the way to the kitchen tearing massive holes in the wallpaper.

Cold air poured into the room and with it came a physical sound that shook the three of them as the front door to the apartment building was busted down and pounding feet were flying up the stairs.

They heard the screams of the mother on the first floor, a sweet woman who they often heard singing to her baby, her voice low and sweet.

"Come on," Lindsay slapped the ground hard with the flat of her hand and then she was rising with a bruising grip on Maurice's arm. She rushed as fast as she could all the while staying low into the hallway where she threw open the tiny closet with such force the door handle left an indent on the wall.

"Help me!" She called out to Alissa who came running. They began tearing down everything from the top shelf, their old Christmas decorations spilling out of their boxes as they hit the ground. When it was cleared, Lindsay turned to Maurice. She motioned for him to come closer and he did, without question.

Boosting him up together, the two girls helped him climb up on top of the shelf and he couldn't quite lie flat, so Lindsay tossed up some dusty blankets and Maurice was covering himself while Alissa was putting the lighter boxes on top of him and in front of him.

There was a loud bang on the front door and a yelp jumped out of Alissa's throat. Lindsay shoved everything she could back into the closet and then looked up to Maurice's big, frightened eyes and put a trembling finger to her lips. He nodded and she closed the door.

Another bang and they could hear the legs of the kitchen table shriek across the floor as it moved a few unwelcome inches.

"The phone!" Lindsay gasped, completely forgetting the satellite phone she had left sitting on the counter, the one and only communication they had with the outside world.

Alissa hissed her name, telling her to forget it, and tried to grab at her as she turned and ran for the kitchen but her fingers only caught a few strands of Lindsay's long hair, ripping them out in her effort. Lindsay hardly even noticed because all she heard, all that was filling her, were the screams from the other apartment tenants echoing throughout the building like it was going up in flames.

Just as Lindsay's hand landed on the phone, scarping it across the counter, the kitchen table flew across the room and the door smashed into the wall. She froze, eyes wide and chest heaving in complete and utter shock as a woman with carrot red hair stepped into the apartment and leveled the heavy barrel of a Kalashnikov on her.

For some reason that she couldn't quite explain, she had not expected a woman and after a few seconds of looking at her—she definitely had not expected a woman that she _knew_.

"_Sylvie?_"

The two women jerked back, staring at one another on opposite ends of the gun. Sylvie was a regular at the dumpster on the end of their street. It was a neighborhood wide belief that she was bat-shit crazy and that wasn't hard to believe since she had a habit of biting or mooning people if they got too close and depending on the mood she was in.

Lindsay had given her food a few times, even went further and tried to get her into a shelter but she had refused and thrown empty bottles at her until she was forced to run. But Lindsay remembered her name and called her by it every time she saw her and the woman usually flipped her off, but on the rare days—she smiled.

Whoever had given her a gun must've wanted this entire neighborhood to come crashing to the ground.

Raising her hands in the air, Lindsay immediately went back into her training and spoke in calm and soothing tones making sure to use names as often as she could.

"Hey Sylvie, do you remember me? I've been gone for a while, but it's me, Lindsay—"

Sylvie bared her teeth and actually growled like an animal, shoving the gun at Lindsay and taking a step further into the apartment. Lindsay tried her best to keep her calm, even though her breath caught and her eyes went directly to the barrel now only two feet from her chest.

"It's okay, Sylvie," her voice shook and she tried to smile. "It's okay."

The red head had more freckles on her face than smooth skin and when she bared her teeth again, they seemed to move as a separate entity. "Get back!"

Just beyond her was movement and shouts and masses of armed men and women running up the stairs and the few lucky tenants who were able to flee running down. There were screams and gunshots and shouts begging for help, for _mercy_. It was complete and total chaos.

Lindsay's eyes went back to the woman in front of her. "You can take anything from the apartment that you want, even food. I think we have some blueberries, I remember, you like those—"

There was the tiniest flash of clarity in Sylvie's sea foam eyes and another flicker of something else, but it was fast and gone before she could put a name to it. Sylvie moved suddenly, but not forward. She was taking a few steps back but she pointed a bony warning finger at Lindsay and then silent as a whisper she backed out the door and was gone.

Crying out in relief, nearly collapsing, Lindsay smiled so big that it hurt her face and she turned back to the hallway where Alissa was waiting in the shadows, eyes hard and gun in hand. A small amount of victory shot through her and she held out the satellite phone to Alissa, completely unaware that someone else had walked through the open door, following her right inside until the blond raised the gun at lightning speed and pulled the trigger.

Lindsay didn't have time to scream; she didn't even have time to think. Her ears rang with the aftermath of the shot and she turned around just in time to realize that Alissa had missed and then the butt of a gun slammed into her ear making her world explode in pain.

She fell to the ground—hard—and could only lay there, unable to move with her mouth wrenched open in a silent scream. Her body automatically curled into itself, her legs tucking into her stomach, her hand clawing at the ear that was now gushing blood. She prepared for more blows, expected them, but they never came. Instead, all that came was blessed darkness—a familiar deep, velvet-rich night sky with stars clear and bright spinning overhead faster and faster until there was nothing.

* * *

><p>The boy looked pretty rough.<p>

She had seen rough before, had seen half-starved, anger filled boys who had been forced to kill and rape and enter a war that was never theirs. She had seen the street boys, ten year old drug addicts who got hooked when they began sniffing glue only to help curb their growling bellies, boys who could curse dirtier than she even knew was possible and had done things that made her skin _crawl_.

He was different though. Later, she would realize it was his eyes. They marked her, like the cattle branding of a tattoo that his previous owners had put on his leg, and she knew then that if she didn't do something she would be haunted by him for years.

They stared at once another through the bars of the jail cell, the local police chief chattering off about this runaway kid his men had found in the market stealing food. She wasn't sure why they called her, except that maybe every other children's center or government ran orphanage was bursting at the seams and no one really wanted a runaway house slave turned thief.

She did.

Lindsay dropped to her knees, ignoring the man beside her, his voice and everything else in the world fading to the background for this one moment—a moment that inevitably changed her life as she knew it.

"Hey… what's your name?"

The boy didn't blink; he just wrapped his arms tighter around his knobby knees. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper almost too soft to hear.

"Maurice."

* * *

><p>It felt like she had been out for centuries.<p>

As if she were coming out of a cryosleep and her muscles had atrophied. Her eyes opened to mere slits and as if it was waiting just for that moment, the world spun hard and fast making her screw them shut once more. She groaned and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, preferably forever. But on the edge of reality, there was a distant and strange kind of gurgling sound reaching her ears, telling her disorientated mind to wake up and wake up fast.

So she did.

The first thing she saw was red—deep, dark, rich; blood. Lindsay wasn't sure if it was her own and that frightened her because there was a lot of blood and she might be in trouble if it was. But then the gurgling transformed into a wheezing wet sounding gasp and Lindsay turned her head, careful to make sure that she didn't send her vision spinning again.

There was a man lying next to her in the narrow hallway and she realized, very quickly, that it was mostly his blood surrounding her. Gasping, she bolted up and the world went back to its washing machine type of spinning, round and round.

That was when she heard the voices and felt the hands on her and she panicked and fought them at once—

"_Hey!_ Woah, it's just me. Easy, Linds, easy."

Alissa's familiar tone made her instantly relax and then her eyes went back to the body because it was twitching, the nerve endings firing off, as the man let out one final sigh and all life left him.

Moments passed and then Lindsay twisted around, her hands like claws on Alissa's as she realized that her friend had killed someone. She didn't want to use the gun and now she had _killed_ someone. Only the look in Alissa's eye was not what she expected.

Then again, neither was Maurice who was standing behind her, his hands and shirt splattered in red, red blood.

A jolt went through her like lightning and then a cold, sweeping terror traveled up her body as her mind pieced together the glaring evidence. Her eyes flew back to the dead man in the militant clothes, blood turning the red scarf around his neck even darker. And she saw it.

Lodged in his throat was a piece of glass.

Lindsay's mind flashed with a memory of Maurice picking a large piece of glass out of her hair the night before in the car. She hadn't even thought to check and see what he had done with it and now—

She felt sick.

Gagging, her stomach revolted and she dry heaved but nothing came out. Out of the corner of her eye, Maurice's foot shifted an inch toward her and then stopped. She could hear blood dripping slowly from his hands.

"Just breathe. Deep breaths," Alissa was saying, her arms like a vice around her middle, holding her up and on her knees and Lindsay realized, absently, that her friend was very afraid. "He thought the man was going to kill you or me, or both of us. And he was. But he was scared—just scared like we all were and I'm so sorry, I tried to stop it but he jumped out of that closet and-" Alissa was babbling, her voice breaking every now and then but she kept turning around, checking over her shoulder towards the door.

That was when Lindsay realized that this nightmare wasn't over yet. Not in the least. People, more people, were still dying, being dragged down the stairs by their hair desperately and futilely trying to beat away their attacker in the way that only someone knows they are going to die can.

Lindsay sat up, her eyes watery and her mouth dry and bitter and though she couldn't even put a name to the thing crawling in her chest, she reached for Maurice.

A radio suddenly crackled causing them all to jump and then a voice, "_Building's clearing out, have you cleared the third floor?_" Silence echoed and the three of them stared in horror at the radio that lit up on the dead man's waist.

"_Misha, have you cleared the third floor? I repeat, have you cleared the third floor?_"

"Shit, shit, shit-" Alissa dove for the radio, shoving her entire body into the dead man and rolling him to his side to grab the radio off of his belt.

"_We're moving in_."

Alissa switched off the radio, her heartbeat visible as it jumped in her throat and she looked at the other two and the body and the blood in a complete loss. Lindsay felt a drop of blood fall off of her earlobe and land on her shoulder and she sucked in a breath and looked to Maurice at her side.

Kind, gentle, soft spoken and tender hearted Maurice had killed someone. For her.

For her.

The nausea hit again but she swallowed it down. She looked back at Maurice and saw that his hand was curled into a fist and he was shaking and trembling all over. _He's only twelve _she thought brightly and painfully and she knew, then, what had to be done. It was a sudden decision, but at the same time it was one that she didn't even have to make. Maybe this was decided for her the moment Bane took over Gotham, maybe this was always going to happen.

She reached her hand out for Maurice and roughly tugged him into her arms and squeezed him so hard she was sure it hurt, but he made no noise. He hugged her back just as hard and then she was dragging him into his room, getting a new set of clothes on and telling him to put them on—fast.

He didn't have to be told twice.

Alissa was standing in the doorway and when Maurice was done she shoved past her friend, pulling him into the bathroom and washing the blood from his hands. She didn't have much time to think about how symbolic that was, but she would think on it for many days after.

"Lindsay," Alissa said very slowly, sounding deeply afraid.

Lindsay's eyes flashed and there was a hardness in them, a finality. "You are taking Maurice and you are running." Alissa opened her mouth in protest and something in her very soul snapped, "Shut up. I don't care where you go, just _run_—"

But there wasn't time. There were sudden shouts, telling others to get to the third floor, and heavy boots on the stairs. Lindsay's lips wrinkled back from her teeth and she exhaled explosively, her eyes flashing down to Maurice. She grabbed his face in her two hands and touched her forehead to his.

"I will not let them take you, _I will not_. But you need to do as I say and stay with Alissa, no matter what happens. Listen to everything she says. I love you, Maurice. I love you so much."

Summoning all of her strength, she handed Maurice over to an absolutely stunned Alissa and then went to that dead body and began covering her own hands and arms and clothes in the blood.

Alissa's eyes went round and she moved but it was too late. The mercenaries were there and they came down the hall, footsteps silent, like death, and guns trained on Lindsay as she turned to meet them covered in their fallen comrade's blood.

She raised dripping red hands in the air, made a show of no threat, her face blank, and shifted slightly to put both Alissa and Maurice behind her. One man was at the front, his face bearded and his eyes flickered about the scene taking in the body, the blood, the three people standing there. Though there was a vacant look to him, it hit her that this man was very intelligent.

"Step out of the hallway, into the living room." He ordered, his voice oddly calm.

Lindsay kept her hands raised, her adrenaline coursing through her like a racehorse as she prayed that they would put the blame on her and not Maurice—dear God, not Maurice—and she walked forward with halting kind of steps. There were three other mercenaries in the living room, all of them had their guns pointed at her the moment she came into view and she realized that she must be a terrifying sort of sight. Maurice followed close behind her and Alissa brought up the back, sandwiching him carefully between them.

They heard rather than saw, because Lindsay refused to look away from the three people holding guns on her, the bearded man searching the other rooms. He came out a minute later, his gun lowered and his not-all-there gaze locked on Lindsay and he gave her a small, strange smile.

"That was a good soldier that you killed."

Lindsay said nothing but she tilted her chin up slightly, feeling a strange kind of insanity fill her. The mercenary wore the same red scarf around his neck as the man in the hallway.

"You're lucky though. Court is in session and you just earned a slot." The man's smile never left and Lindsay felt a tremor roll through her as his eyes took in all three of them. "Bring them."

* * *

><p>AN So, guess what? BANE FINALLY SHOWS HIS FACE NEXT CHAPTER (not really, but you get the picture). Thank God. Because this was getting hard enough to write but I _had_ to set things up for the fun to come and I really wanted him to show up this chapter, but I felt like this needed to end.

Yeah. There you go. I can't wait/am terrified to hear what you think!

revolution . now


	4. Chapter 4

_You made a deal and now you have to offer all  
>But will it ever be enough? (Raise it up, raise it up)<br>__It's not enough (Raise it up, raise it up)_

_Here I am, a rabbit hearted girl  
><em>_Frozen in the headlights  
><em>_It seems I've made the final sacrifice_

_We raise it up, this offering  
><em>_We raise it up_

_This is a gift, it comes with a price  
><em>_Who is the lamb and who is the knife?  
><em>_Midas is king and he holds me so tight  
><em>_And turns me to gold in the sunlight_

_I must become a lion hearted girl  
>Ready for a fight<br>Before I make the final sacrifice_

Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up) by Florence + the Machine

**Intrepid**

**Chapter Four**

She shivered.

Chills ran up and down her spine, her teeth chattered audibly; she was not cold. She should have been. Her shirt was thin, the material having been stretched and scrubbed and rung out by rough hands one too many times, and the air was biting. They had at least let her put on her shoes and she supposed she should be grateful for the generosity. She wondered if everyone else was so lucky.

A laugh bubbled up in her chest at that thought but it never quite made it to her mouth. Her eyes watered and the ground became suddenly blurry. A hand shoved her from behind and Lindsay began walking again, not even realizing she had stopped in the first place.

It was a strange feeling, knowing that she was covered in the end of someone else's life. The winter air had turned the blood a strange, rusty sort of red as it caked and cracked on her hands and forearms catching and tugging on the fine hairs there. She had the burning urge to scratch at it, to peel it off and scrub until her skin was raw, but her arms never moved.

She wondered what the man's name was.

They marched in a procession across Gotham, the bearded mercenary leading them, and Lindsay gave herself this time to let her mind drift and to be afraid. She knew, deep down, in the marrow of her bones, that this wouldn't be an option in the minutes to come. She knew that her mind had to be sharp and she had to be alert and keep away the despair that was trying to creep up on her because despite all her efforts, Maurice was not safe yet. Lindsay had to get him out and she had to be smart about it.

But right now, in these moments between moments, she allowed herself to be utterly terrified. She wanted, very badly, to scream for both he and Alissa to run. She wanted to beg for mercy, she wanted to know what was waiting for her at the courthouse and if and when and how she was going to die. She was scared of torture and had always been terrified of it because in her world, it was all too real. In the safety of her mind where her words held no consequences, she raged and yelled and cried; outwardly she didn't make a sound.

They kept a mercenary between each of them and Lindsay had put up a hell of a fight about that at first but they discovered very quickly how compliant she could be when they put a gun to Maurice's head.

She wondered when they would discover what happened when you push someone too far over the edge. She wondered if they knew what she kept buried deep in her, carefully locked away and kept in a box with a tight lid.

Around her, the first snow of winter began to fall; a warning.

Her legs were thumping with a dull sort of ache when City Hall came into view. Her steps faltered, whether out of apprehension or because they had long ago gone numb, she wasn't sure. There was a mob of people spilling out onto the snow dusted concrete steps, their shouts and fury making the air hot and thick and suddenly hard to breathe. She glanced behind her, because if she was going to do this, she needed to remember why and she needed to remember why _right now_.

She locked eyes with Maurice; Maurice who was twelve and liked water fights and bright colored socks; Maurice who had a giant heart and cried if she cried and laughed free and wild and often and true.

Maurice who had killed someone to protect her.

She stared at him, her eyes remembering and memorizing all at once. There was another presence behind him and Lindsay hadn't been able to bring herself to look at the blond with the glacier eyes since the bearded mercenary had ordered them out of that terrible hallway. She still couldn't. So she turned, then, not able to put into words the thing that was filling her limbs and steadying her racing heart; it made her feel strong and insane and absolutely _sure_ all at once.

Lindsay let it fill her to her fingertips, bubbling under her skin, until she thought she might burst and then she turned around and pushed ahead of the bearded mercenary and walked into the courtroom letting the procession follow behind her.

* * *

><p>He heard her before he saw ever her.<p>

Forty death sentences had been carried out within the first two hours and he hadn't even spoken a word. In the back of the room, like a watchful shadow, he stood. Bane knew the effect his presence had on people, he understood the power of words and he understood the power of silence; he was very good at wielding both. His hands absently played with an age old piece of string, a string with memories of memories woven into its threads, and he listened to a city destroy itself.

Gotham, it seemed, was proving that it didn't need the bomb. Perhaps it never had; it just needed the pressure.

The victory felt easy—if a plan encompassing nearly a decade could ever be considered easy, this one was. The only thing that was growing tiresome was the noise. Shouts; angry, swollen voices that echoed and twisted and bent into an endless circle reminded him too much of a place much darker, much more terrible than this and it made his skin itch. Perhaps that was why when the room slowly fell to a sort of hushed silence, he looked up for the first time since he took his post, to the sound of footsteps echoing into the hall.

A young woman walked in, her head held high, jaw clenched defiantly and she was shaking all over. A small amount of surprise went through him, though he never showed it, as he took in the dried blood her arms and clothes were bathed in. The girl herself wasn't striking; her hair was long and wild and untamed in a way that didn't quite match the plain brown color of it. She wasn't tall or particularly short and her waist was rounded slightly with extra weight on the sides. But she carried herself in a way that made others give her a wide berth, or perhaps it was the blood she was covered in that seemed to make even this place of madness uneasy in her presence.

Crane paused, his eyes sharpening on her with a sort of hunger that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with insanity, and then it quickly passed and his voice regained strength as he called the court back to attention to case number forty-one. Cautiously, everyone turned away. She didn't.

Where no one had acknowledge him for longer than a few given seconds, she stared Bane dead in the eye and kept moving forward even when he stared back.

He was sure she would have marched right up to him if it weren't for Barsad grabbing her arm and jerking her over roughly to stand next in line with the condemned. At that, Bane's brow rose. Barsad wasn't fond of the court and much more preferred hunting.

He tucked the string away in his pocket and watched, finally noticing the rest of their strange party. There was another woman, tall and lithe and pale in skin and hair and eye, and a boy, her polar opposite for all that he was dark. While the blood bathed woman kept her gaze keenly on him as he leaned against a pillar, her chin tilted up in challenge, the boy kept his eyes strictly on her and there were flames flickering in them.

There wasn't much time to think on the oddity of it all because Barsad was separating them and pushing the pale woman and the boy further back to the crowd when everything exploded. Everyone had been wary of the woman in the blood when it was the boy with the fire in him that they should have been watching.

He was young and he had no training whatsoever but he attacked with a sort of raw violence that made him completely unpredictable. He clawed Barsad's face making the man grunt briefly and Bane watched to see how long his second in command would put up with the child.

It wasn't long.

The boy was uncontrolled and enraged but Barsad was experienced and he dropped the boy onto his back with one swift move and planted a knee in his chest. Behind him, both women were being held back and fighting and screaming for the boy. Bane walked forward then.

"I'll fucking kill you! I'll rip out your throat and cut out your eyes if you go near my mother—"

The boy was snarling like an animal and it gave Bane pause because it was in a language he had not at all expected to hear. He reevaluated the child, his ears telling him that his Arabic was distinctly Moroccan.

Bane had many allies and enemies alike in Morocco.

Barsad lifted his hand because the child was not going to stop and the women both shrieked—

"_Safi_," Bane called out, his hand raised and his eyes locked on the boy. He did not need to raise his voice, the mask had a way of making sure that what he said would carry and reverberate and echo in every ear of the room.

The boy was sucking in air through clenched teeth, flecks of his spit flying out with every breath. Bane continued his slow walk forward until he was a mountain staring down at him. "_Safi. _Enough, little brother."

A jolt seemed to go through him and it was like the boy was only now realizing that the entire courtroom's attention was on him. Dark eyes met Bane's and there was a flash of something in them stronger and more primal than fear. Bane felt his curiosity go up another inch. He was used to people looking at him in fear but not as much in recognition like this boy did. The mask hissed.

"_Chnou smeetik? _What is your name?"

He didn't answer, his eyes refusing to leave Bane's, his chest rising and falling fast. Underneath Barsad's heavily planted knee he winced.

"Release him."

Barsad acted immediately and the boy lay there, unable to move. Bane crouched down, his body like a large boulder hanging over one so small—so easily crushed. Behind him, one of the women cursed and renewed her vigor to get to the boy. Bane did not take his eyes off of the child.

Amiably, Bane spoke, tapping his finger against the boy's chest twice. "I will ask once more; what is your name?"

There was a moment of total quiet before the boy opened his mouth. "Maurice."

"And this is your mother?"

Bane pointed behind him, not turning to look at the blood soaked woman. The boy did, however, his eyes giving away the answer before he nodded.

"Maurice, _ma'leesh_—" The woman cried out and Bane turned, a slow movement of his head. There were fresh tears on her face and whatever she was going to say died on her lips as Bane studied her. Her mouth closed and she trembled, her arms held behind her back by another one of Bane's men.

He straightened up, suddenly, his gaze never leaving the woman's eyes. "Barsad, bring the boy."

Her reaction was immediate.

"_NO!_" She shrieked—her voice breaking—and bucked back against her captor, nearly successful in knocking her head into theirs. The boy seemed to realize what was happening as well and he was on his feet and running to her, but Bane was faster and he grabbed him, stopping him with a vice-like grip on his shoulder.

"Calm, little brother. Earlier you threatened one of my men. Tell me, would you kill for this woman?"

Bane was leaning down, his voice filtered and riddled with curiosity, until his mask was level with the boy's ear. He slid his hand down to the boy's upper arm and tightened his grip and pointed to the horrified woman in question. Her eyes were perfect hazel circles and she was shaking her head quickly.

"_'Awenni_ mama," the boy called out for help and she blinked causing new tears to leak down her cheeks.

"_Ma'leesh_, I'm here. Just keep quiet, Maurice—look at me—eyes on me, okay?" Her eyes burned with a desperation that Bane had seen before many years ago. She shook her head frantically. "Don't speak. You don't have to—don't speak."

Bane leveled her with a look and she stubbornly refused to take her eyes off of the child. For some odd reason, it angered him. Straightening suddenly, his movement drawing her eyes then, he stared at her and kept his heavy arm around the boy's shoulders.

"Come," he said with finality and the boy, as expected now, fought. But Bane chuckled without humor. "Stop fretting, little brother! Your mother is coming, too."

He cast one sparing glance at the other pale woman who had been silent so far.

"Leave that one. She is free to go."

* * *

><p>Alissa's screams echoed into the courtroom as Lindsay was quite literally dragged away. It was a sound that would stay with her for a long, long time.<p>

She glanced over her shoulder one last time at her friend as they were led out of the courtroom and into the raging streets of Gotham and she prayed. It wasn't a prayer with words but she prayed nonetheless and then they were outside in the cold air and she actually felt it this time. The only thing she could think of as the air bit at her skin viciously like a rabid dog was how cruel this all was.

Bane walked ahead, his arm around Maurice and Lindsay had never been more terrified in her entire life. She had been in bad situations before, sticky ones with different warlords or drug cartel members that she had pissed off enough to come seek her out. There was something different thing time, something primal stirring in her and she felt very much like a volcano—ready to blow and capable of destroying them all.

There was a car waiting for them on the road. The SUV was stereotypical black but its paint did not shine and the windows were slightly scratched. The bearded mercenary, the one that Lindsay knew that she would one day probably try to kill for what he did to Maurice, held open one of the doors for them. Bane ushered Maurice in and then turned to her.

His eyes gave her pause and she felt like climbing into this car would be the same as crawling into the belly of a whale—like Jonah. The masked hissed as he waited and Lindsay knew that if she didn't willingly move soon, he would do it for her.

She refused to give him the pleasure.

Tilting her chin up, Lindsay kept her gaze on him screaming in her mind how much she hated him as she moved forward. What she was not prepared for was the crinkle of amusement around his eyes. Choosing to ignore it, she gracelessly crawled into the car only slightly grateful that the heater was on full blast. Instantly, she went to Maurice.

"_Smehlia. Smehlia._" The words tumbled out of her mouth the moment she reached him and she wondered if he ever would, in fact, forgive her.

Silent, Maurice tucked himself into her arms and the door was slammed shut behind them. The passenger side door was opened suddenly and the car shifted—taking Bane's weight as he hauled himself inside. The doors locked immediately and when they began to move, panic struck.

She had no idea where they were going or what he was going to do with them.

Eyeing the lock, Lindsay reached over and slid it up with agonizing slowness. Maurice watched, eyes flickering between what she was doing and Bane. When the lock popped up without any noise, a strange sort of thrill shot through her veins making her heart thump wildly in her chest. She eyed the men in the front and when they turned a corner, she tightened her grip on Maurice and pulled the door handle—

"In my experience, I have found the child lock mechanism to be rather useful on those who are not, in fact, children."

She started, her eyes flying to the masked hulk of a man, but he was not even looking at her. His voice had been friendly and his accent like some strange kind of melody, clipped before it could fully play out its tune. Desperate, she tried the handle twice, not caring how loud she was this time and finally, Bane turned, his eyes steel in nature and in color.

"The desperation of a mother blinds you."

Something icy came over her and it felt very much like insanity. She stared at him, then, and grinned, shaking her head.

"No," she said quietly; a promise. "It makes me fearless."

Bane's gaze was measuring and stayed on her for far too long.

"We shall see."

* * *

><p>AN …. Ha…ha… Hey guy_s_. So this chapter is super scary and super exciting for me to post because… cuz it's freaking Bane. He's finally here CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? I can't. But I was so excited when he finally showed up that I had to post early for you all (AREN'T I NICE?!). Even though this is shorter, it just felt right to end it there. Also, that song at the beginning is one of the theme songs for this whole story. Go listen if you haven't. It's pretty spectacular and on point.

Thanks for all the marvelous reviews. You are each so lovely and encouraging! I can't wait to hear what you think of this! EEP!

The bits of Moroccan Arabic (hey, at least you know where Maurice is from now, whoop) that I've used in this story so far has come from my own research-AKA Google. I'm sorry if it isn't fully correct, but I'm trying my best!

revolution . now


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